


One Step Heavy, and Two Steps High

by Diaryofanarcissisticgayman



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Harry is a bit of a slut, I'd say canon compliant, Lots of Angst, M/M, Mentions of Harry Styles/Xander Ritz, Mentions of Niall Horan/Melissa Whitelaw - Freeform, Neither of them are ever actually named though, also some smut, and so is niall, and then they fight again, and then they fuck, but Narry have been kicking my teeth in with all of the love lately, it's non-au though, references to Zayn leaving, so much fucking angst, so not really, that's basically the entire story, they fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:45:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4961158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaryofanarcissisticgayman/pseuds/Diaryofanarcissisticgayman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willie was gone when Niall woke up, and he wants to be offended, wants to be upset that he’s only been home for three days after a long leg of a major tour and his own cousin doesn’t want to spend time with him, but he just can’t be. He knows that it’s his own fault.  Because for those three days, all he’s done is bitch and whine and moan and scream and yell and rant and rage. He hasn’t been anything like the person that he was only months ago, the happy-go-lucky asshole who never saw it all coming is gone now, replaced by this poltergeist that’s taken over Niall’s body.</p><p>And he’d like to say that it isn’t his fault, but it is. Blaming other people, blaming him, doesn’t change the fact that Niall is the one who was too consumed by his own ignorance to notice that everything was collapsing around him. He was happy, and he was blinded by that happiness, and then he was just blindsided.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step Heavy, and Two Steps High

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vi_vi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vi_vi/gifts).



> So I made a post on tumblr about how I thought that Narry must have had a real knock-down, drag out fight over everything that happened in America, which led to some rough sex, and finally to this loving stage we're experiencing now. Iris suggested that I actually write it, so I did. Unfortunately- They've been so in love that it's been next to impossible to finish this. It took days longer than I planned just to get out a measly ~17k words. Here we are though.
> 
> Title from 'Without You' by Oh Wonder. Give it a listen.

Willie was gone when Niall woke up, and he wants to be offended, wants to be upset that he’s only been home for three days after a long leg of a major tour and his own cousin doesn’t want to spend time with him, but he just can’t be. He knows that it’s his own fault. Because for those three days, all he’s done is bitch and whine and moan and scream and yell and rant and rage. He hasn’t been anything like the person that he was only months ago, the happy-go-lucky asshole who never saw it all coming is gone now, replaced by this poltergeist that’s taken over Niall’s body.

And he’d like to say that it isn’t his fault, but it is. Blaming other people, blaming _him_ , doesn’t change the fact that Niall is the one who was too consumed by his own ignorance to notice that everything was collapsing around him. He was happy, and he was blinded by that happiness, and then he was just blindsided.

For a long time he was depressed, walked through his days like a ghost, not really feeling or seeing or interacting with anything in a way that he would ever remember. Those first few months are a blur to him still. Just a haze of being told where to go and what to do, of fulfilling his obligations without any real thought or effort. Of course he did what he had to do, put on a happy face for the people watching his every move, pretended with the best of them that it hadn’t shocked and broken and changed him down to the very core of his being. But in the dead of night, when he was truly alone for the first time in years, the mask cracked and fell to pieces, and he went back to being numb.

And then that numbness began to slide away. It gave way to what Niall likes to think of as his rebound period. The time when he convinced himself that it was preferable this way, that he was better off. He changed his look, changed his diet, and threw himself into working out; anything that could be seen as bouncing back and starting a new phase of his life. That’s the period that he liked the best. He felt invincible then. What he didn’t realize at the time, was that he was just putting on a different mask. One that even he couldn’t see through at first.

But it ended, as all great illusions do. He got too close to the mirage, and it faded away to show him that his reality was still as barren as it had been since everything went down. And it took another few days after that revelation for the numbness, which had so eagerly returned, to fade into something like acceptance. Whether or not it was what he had wanted and planned and dreamed for, this was his life now.

He’s heard of the five stages of grief, heard that they have an order, but Niall has never really been good at taking orders. He’d done depression first, and then denial, and even though acceptance was supposed to have been the final stage, it wasn’t. No, he regressed from acceptance back to bargaining.

Bargaining was the quickest stage, lasting only a couple of weeks, but they were a great few weeks at the time. His bargains were made with himself. Make it through a day without crying? Get pissed. Make it through a concert without letting anything show that he’s broken inside? Get pissed and laid. Go an entire day without thinking about Harry? He doesn’t know. He never managed to get that far.

His birthday is when bargaining went straight out the window. He didn’t care about who saw what, or what his emotions tried to do. Louis, the only one who’d been privy to any of Niall’s mental breakdown, escorted him to Vegas on the twelfth, and they floated on a river of alcohol and sin until Niall woke up on the sixteenth to a hangover bigger than the private plane that he hopped on for the flight back to Heathrow. He’d survived through a few fistfuls of paracetamol and a pair of sunglasses so dark that he could barely make out the flight attendant’s face. That didn’t really matter one way or another when he’d fucked her an hour out from touching down on the tarmac, and the tension relief had helped bring the throbbing in his skull down to an acceptable level.

There was something about it, something about being back home, that snapped within him the second that his feet touched the ground again, where he went from just existing, to being pissed the fuck off, and entered his current stage of anger. There was no way that Willie could have been prepared for it, especially seeing as Niall wasn’t even prepared for it, but he put up a good front for a while. He let Niall unleash the torrent of pure wrath that had been pent up and pushed down and hidden away for so long. Apparently Willie couldn’t handle it anymore though. He’d left a note on the fridge, letting Niall know that he’d be out of town for a day or two with some friends up north, and that was that.

And that’s kind of nice actually, because Niall is exhausted. Anger is so fucking tiring. He’s fallen into bed the last few nights with his limbs feeling like lead, and his heart feeling even heavier. If Willie were here, if there was someone that Niall could be angry to, then he knows that he still would be. He’d continue to vent everything out from the seemingly bottomless place deep inside of him that’s storing it.

Now though, now he can do the one thing that he hasn’t let himself do without being ashamed of it since this whole thing happened. He can cry. He can admit to himself that he’s scared and lonely and hurt. He can admit that he doesn’t know who he is, or what he’s going to do, because all of his hopes and plans and dreams were blown to pieces before he even knew what was happening.

He can curl up on the couch in a jumper that he’d stolen from Harry even before he’d even known that he was in love with his bandmate. He can jam his feet into the pair of thick wool socks that Harry had made for him because he wanted to soften the blow of telling Niall that he couldn’t stand sleeping with the blond’s cold toes pressed up against him by giving him a handmade gift from the heart. He can hide underneath the blanket that Harry had left on Niall’s bed, which he’d brought it from his house because he wanted something to show that Niall’s home was his home too.

Really though, there’s nothing in the entire house that doesn’t have the ghosts and shades and flickers of memories with Harry attached to it. Every surface of the place screams at him with remembrances of heated kisses and fond embraces and unrestrained laughter. Specters of better times taunt him from every piece of furniture or article of clothing or item that lines his walls. It’s all been adulterated, tainted by the shadows of his touch and promises that were never intended to be kept. And if Niall had the energy left in him to be angry again, he’d take a knife to all of it. He’d shred away the lies that he’d believed in so fervently.

But he has nothing left to rage at, nothing to react to the venom and bile and pure, raw fury that wants to let itself go from inside of him. So instead he sits on the couch, wrapped in memories that hurt too much to allow himself let go of them, because at least the pain reminds him that he lost something. That he had something once to lose. And he does it with half of a bottle of whiskey that cost more than his father gets paid in a month. Well, he did anyways. He finished off the bottle half an hour ago, and he can’t seem to find the motivation to get himself off of the couch and grab anything else.

But God is good, and just as Niall decides that he wants another drink more than he wants to meld with the couch fibers, he hears the front door open and close, heavy footfalls heading straight for him. “Willie! Why are you back so early?” he calls out. “Grab me that case of beer from the fridge, would you?”

“You sound like you’ve had a few too many already.” says a voice so horribly familiar that it manages to turn Niall’s blood to ice. If it weren’t for the way his heart clenches so painfully, he’d think he was dreaming.

He has to stand, has to see for himself that this is happening, and it takes every bit of the strength that he’d built up during his rebound period just to lock his knees and keep them from giving out when his eyes find Harry standing there, his luggage on the ground next to him like he’s just gotten off of the plane. All at once the ice melts in the wake of Niall’s white-hot rage, and he spits out, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing walking into my home, Styles?”

“We need to talk.” Harry answers. “We’ve needed to talk for a long time.”

“The only thing I have to say to you is ‘get the fuck out’!” Niall grits out, his jaw as clenched as the fists at his side.

“Ni, please.” Harry says, his voice as soft as that silk shirt he’s wearing. He runs his hands through his hair, fingers curling in the way that Niall knows means his scratching them harshly against his scalp as a way to ground him in the moment.

“No.” Niall refuses. “No, you’ve lost the right to talk to me about anything other than the band.”

“I miss you.” Harry whispers, the words somehow so quiet that they split the air like an atom. Only, it’s not the room that explodes. It’s Niall.

His fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle before his mind even processes that he’s moved. It rockets through the air, crashing against the wall a foot from Harry’s head and breaking into almost as many pieces as Niall’s heart is threatening to do inside his chest at the same time. Harry, to his credit, doesn’t as much as flinch. Like he knew that Niall never meant to do it even before it happened.

“Get out.” Niall chokes out, his arms curling around his stomach and his eyes dropping to the floor. And the jumper, the goddamn jumper, loses the strength that it used to give him. Once it had felt like armor, had been his shield from anything and everything that could hurt him, because it was like Harry was wrapped around him. Now it just leaves him feeling naked, exposed to the reality of the world, and worse, to Harry. It’s like a beacon of just how raw every single one of Niall’s nerve are right now, projecting out to the universe that he just can’t move on from the very man invading his one last safe place. The word feels like those shards of glass on the floor are making his throat their new home when he manages to beg, “Please.”

“I miss you.” Harry repeats, as if the first time hadn’t bitten into Niall’s gut and chest and skull like a spray of bullets already.

“No you don’t!” Niall tells him with a laugh so harsh, so foreign, so completely and utterly unamused, that he can’t even recognize it as having come out of his own mouth when Harry Styles has said something to him. “You miss _him_! _He’s_ an ocean away, and now you’re looking for something to fuck in the meantime.”

“We broke up, Niall.” Harry says, taking another step so that he’s fully inside the room now, glass crunching beneath the heel of his boot.

“And?” Niall scoffs. “I think that when you broke up with me was when I stopped being the person that you could come to talk with during a breakup. Try Grimmy. He’s who you went to after us, I believe. Or is he too busy for you to fuck away your breakup-blues with again?”

“Niall-” Harry sighs.

“I’m sure that you’ve got a fucking rolodex of people though.” Niall continues relentlessly. “Could call up any number of the thousands of people you’ve fucked over the years. Try Paige. I’m sure she’s up for it again. Oh, or Daisy. Or Ben. Or Cara. Or Louis. He’s got a baby on the way, but what do you care? You’ll break it off with him months before the kid shows up. You’ll never actually have to commit to anything.”

“Fuck you!” Harry hisses. “You know that nothing happened between me and Louis. How dare you, of all people, throw that in my face?”

“How dare I?” Niall asks. “How dare you come into my home like you still have any right? How dare you act like you haven’t already fucked me in every way that you can fuck a person? There’s nothing left for you to use here, Harry!”

“I didn’t use you, Niall.” Harry argues.

“The fuck you didn’t!” Niall fires back. “You use everyone. We’re all just accessories to you. It’s all about how much pleasure we can give you, and for how long, before you get bored of us and throw us in the fucking bin.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Harry spits out. “I know that you’re angry, but you know that what we had mattered. You matter to me, Niall.”

“You’re un-fucking-believable.” Niall laughs mirthlessly. “If it mattered to you so much, you wouldn’t have broken up with me in the first place.”

“I was terrified!” Harry admits in a yell. “I was so fucking scared out of my mind when it came to you, Niall. I’ve always been scared when it comes to you.”

“You’re the commitment-phobe.” Niall points out. “What the fuck did you have to be scared of? I was the one taking the gamble on our relationship after knowing your history. I was the one who should have been scared.”

“But you weren’t.” Harry says quietly. “You were never scared. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never really been scared. Because you know who you are, Niall. You know who you are, and that’s terrifying to me. You had all of these plans for yourself, for us, and it scared me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Niall mutters, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I found the ring.” Harry mumbles. The words smear together, so low and fast that Niall can barely sort them out. But when he does, his heart stops pounding behind his ribs, coming to a screeching halt that makes his head spin like a tornado. “I found the ring, and the speech that you’d written out, tucked away in the damn sock drawer. And I got scared. I ran.”

“Well that says everything, doesn’t it?” Niall asks aloud, though he doesn’t really care about the answer. He’s much more concerned with lowering himself onto the coffee table before his legs give out. “That’s what you do. You run. You don’t care about the mess you leave behind once you’re out the door either. Don’t care who you hurt in your mad dash to get away from anything that feels too damn real.”

“You know me, Niall.” Harry murmurs, stepping closer to close the distance that Niall had widened when he sat down. “Better than anyone in the world. You know that the one thing that I want is-”

“Freedom.” Niall finishes for him. “Except, here’s the thing, Harry. I wasn’t trying to tie you down. You weren’t a caged fucking bird. There’s nothing that I ever wanted to hold you back from. All that I ever wanted was for you to be happy. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t matter to me if you wanted to go solo, or go into acting, or have a family, or open a fucking used car lot in Leeds. I just wanted you to be happy. I didn’t realize that me loving you felt like fucking shackles that you needed to escape from.”

“It didn’t.” Harry says softly, taking another step. “God- Ni, sometimes- Sometimes being with you felt like the only right decision I ever made in my life. You’re my best friend, and-”

“Not anymore.” Niall cuts him off, shaking his head. “We stopped being best friends when you dumped me. When you left me at the moment I needed you most, because I didn’t just lose you. I lost two of my best friends so fast that I still don’t know how I survived. The dust hadn’t even settled from - from Zayn leaving - and you left me too. It was like I lost an arm and a leg at the same damn time.

“I couldn’t even breathe after he left, and then you bolted on me. You told me we were done over a fucking voice message, Harry. You knew - _you knew_ \- how hard his leaving was on me, and you took that as an opportunity to slip away in the middle of the chaos. So obviously I wasn’t your best friend. Best friends don’t run when one needs the other most. Best friends don’t abandon each other with nothing more than a voice-mail. Best friends don’t pull the kind of shit that you pulled.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.” Harry says as he takes a seat on the edge of the couch.

“But you didn’t care that you did.” Niall mutters. “You never even apologized, Harry. You just pretended that nothing was wrong. You fucking introduced me to - to _him_ \- like nothing had ever happened between us. Like I couldn’t hear you two fucking in the goddamn dressing room five minutes beforehand. And you had that face. That same fucking face that you had whenever you introduced me to someone that you were with before we were together, like you wanted- no, _needed_ – for me to be happy for you. Like what I thought really ever mattered to you.

“And here’s the really sick thing about it. If we hadn’t been together, or if you’d ever apologized, or even if you’d just given me longer to grieve the relationship and move on, then I probably would have been. Because I didn’t want to hate _him_. _He_ was good for you. _He_ was the kind of guy that I would have seen you settling down with, and being happy with. But it had barely been any time at all, and you’d moved on with this great guy, who apparently fucked you like a champion from what I heard through the walls, and you were just standing there with that stupid fucking face, begging me to like _him_.”

“I didn’t want you to like _him_.” Harry whispers. “I wanted you to fucking hate _him_. _He_ was never supposed to be anything real, Niall. _He_ was just sex. And, yeah, _he_ did fuck me like a champion, and it was nice to wake up to the same person every day, but I only ever brought _him_ around to try to get a reaction out of you like I felt when I found out about you bringing _her_ over from Australia, after you fucking promised me that nothing had happened between you two while you were there. I was so fucking pissed off when I read about that, when I saw pictures of you two together, and I wanted you to feel the same thing I did then.”

“You broke up with me!” Niall yells. “You don’t get to keep the right to an opinion over who I fuck!”

“Just because I left you doesn’t mean that all of my feelings weren’t still there, Niall!” Harry shouts. “It doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt finding out that you’d cheated on me!”

“I never fucking cheated on you!” Niall screams. “I never even thought about cheating on you! You were fucking it for me, Harry. You were the only one that I ever fucking wanted. _She_ was just a friend until you left me, and I needed to not feel alone every fucking night. I needed something, anything, to hold onto. I was drowning, and there was no air in sight. Every fucking day it got harder to think and breathe and move, because I’d lost so damn much that I couldn’t even find a reason to get out of bed in the mornings. _She_ gave me a little bit of time where I could focus on something other than the gaping wound you left in my chest. And maybe it hurt you, but I didn’t do that intentionally. You did. You hurt me on purpose, after you’d already torn me to pieces.

“Here’s the thing though, you don’t get to be hurt. You don’t get to play the victim. You don’t get to act like you were the one who was broken. That’s me. I’m the one who had to pick myself up off of the ground and push through the fucking cloud of debris that you left when you ran away from me because you couldn’t handle the fact that I was in love with you.

“And, just so you know, I was nowhere near ready to actually use the damn ring. I saw it, and I knew that one day, down the line, that was the ring that I wanted to use when I finally thought that we were ready. I bought it because it was a one of a kind, and I didn’t want to lose the perfect ring just because I wasn’t ready yet. I knew that one day I would be, but I wasn’t yet. And you’d have seen that if you read the speech, because it wasn’t done. There wasn’t a tenth of what I wanted to say to you when I proposed in there. That was a rough fucking draft. One of a thousand that I started and threw away while you were sleeping in the bed next to me, because none of them felt right. That draft was only with the ring because you started to wake up, and I didn’t want you to find it in the bin and think that it was about to happen. So I shoved it in and the ring in the damn drawer.”

“You weren’t going to propose?” Harry asks.

“No!” Niall groans. “Not then. Hell, even if none of this had happened, I probably still wouldn’t have done it yet. We’re in our early twenties, Harry. We have so many options in front of us, and I wouldn’t want something like a wedding stopping us from exploring those to find the life that fits us best. I was perfectly content with the way things were between us for the time being. Scratch that – I was fucking happy as hell with the way things were between us. I loved you, Harry. I loved you, and a ring on your finger wasn’t necessary for me. But you didn’t even talk to me about it. You decided for the both of us that nothing could ever come of our relationship down the line, and didn’t even bother to let me have a say.”

“I thought that you wanted more from me than I was ready to give, Niall.” Harry says quietly. “I thought that leaving when I did would have saved you pain.”

“No, you thought that it would save you from having to see exactly how much you hurt me.” Niall counters. “Because you knew that there was no way I’d ever actually let you see it after the fact. You knew that if you looked at me after a few days, that you wouldn’t see a damn thing, and you could pretend that you didn’t bring my entire life down around my ears with a fucking voicemail.”

“What was I supposed to say, Niall?” Harry asks harshly. “‘Hey, I found out that you want to propose, and I think that you’re a lot farther along in this than I am?’ It wasn’t that I don’t love you. Of course I love you. I just wasn’t ready for that step, and I didn’t want you to break up with me because I wasn’t ready. I knew that if I ended things, you’d survive. You’re stronger than I am. If you’d left me first, then I would never have been able to get back up.”

“So you let me feel used and abandoned?” Niall scoffs. “You decided that letting me feel like everything we’d ever had didn’t matter to you in the slightest was the better option?”

“I know, okay?” Harry groans, tugging at a strand of his hair. “I know that I didn’t do right by you. I panicked, and I made the worst decision possible in that situation. Why do you think I’m here?”

“Why do you think that matters?” Niall counters venomously. “You’ve had months – months – to say something. You’ve had every opportunity to try and mend fences, Harry.”

“I don’t want a fence.” Harry mutters. “Fences keep people apart. Bridges bring them together.”

“Well too damn bad.” Niall scoffs. “Because you poured napalm all over that bridge before you burned it, Harry. You dropped a fucking hydrogen bomb on it. There’s nothing left to rebuild.”

“If there was nothing left to rebuild, then you wouldn’t be wearing my jumper.” Harry says softly. “Or those horrible socks that I made you. And you wouldn’t have my blanket on the couch. I refuse to believe that you don’t still have feelings for me.”

“It doesn’t matter if I do or if I don’t.” Niall tells him. “Because you already decided that we don’t have a future, Harry. I’m not getting into something with you again, especially knowing that it’s going to be temporary.”

“ _He_ said that he loves me.” Harry admits. It doesn’t take any guesswork to figure out who he means. “That’s why I left _him_.”

“Go figure.” Niall mutters under his breath.

“It’s not like that.” Harry sighs. “What I mean is- When _he_ said that, it hit me. Those words don’t feel right from _him_. They never felt right from anyone I was ever with, except you. You’re the only person who’s ever known me for all of the light and dark in my soul, and loved me anyways. You’re the only one who actually means it, and you’re the only one I could mean it with when I say it back. You’re it for me. I know that it took me too long to realize it, Niall, but we also both know that I’m a bit slow when it comes to things like that.”

“I don’t believe you.” Niall whispers.

“Then ask me.” Harry tells him. “Ask me to marry you. I’ll say yes.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Niall scoffs. “We’ve barely spoken in the last six months, and you want to get married?”

“I want to be with you, however I can.” Harry answers. “I want us back.”

“I threw the ring away.” Niall tells him. “I threw it in the fucking ocean. And I already told you that I’m not ready for that either. Especially not now. Harry, this isn’t going to work.”

“Not if you’re not willing to give it a shot.” Harry says desperately.

“Give it a – I already gave it a shot, Harry!” Niall snaps. “And it missed the target so badly that the bullet ended up on another fucking planet! You’re the one who ran! You’re the one who always runs! Why in the hell would I open myself up to that again?”

“Because you know that we’re meant to be together.” Harry murmurs, slipping off of the couch and kneeling down in front of Niall. “You know, deep down, that we love each other, and no matter how badly either of us fuck up, in the end, we’re still only ever really going to be able to love each other. Nobody else will ever know us the way we know each other. Nobody else will ever love you the way that I love you, or love me the way that you love me.”

“Love isn’t enough to fix the broken pieces, Harry.” Niall says, shaking his head. “It doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t make all of the pain go away, or make up for the talks that should have happened, or un-fuck the people that we fucked.”

“How many have there been?” Harry asks, planting his hands on either side of Niall’s hips.

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Niall admits. “Twenty, I guess. Give or take a few.”

“And did any of them make you feel anything close to the way I made you feel?” Harry asks, scooting forward until he’s slotted between Niall’s thighs.

“There was a pair of twins in Vegas that came close.” Niall tells him nonchalantly. “One fucked me while I fucked the other. It wasn’t the best sex I’ve ever had in my life, but it was in the top five.”

“And who owns the number one slot?” Harry asks, leaning in until his face is only inches from Niall’s. “And two through four?”

“ _Her_.” Niall smirks, predicting the rage that light up Harry’s eyes before the word is even formed on his tongue.

“Fucking liar.” Harry growls, lifting a hand to tangle in the collar of Niall’s jumper. He yanks him forward hard, their mouths meeting with enough force that Niall worries they’ll have split lips when they go on at the Apple Music Festival in a couple days. He doesn’t have much time to think about that though. Not when Harry wraps his other arm around the small of Niall’s back, pivoting and twisting until the blond is pressed into the floor with Harry on top of him, their lips never parting through the course of the actions.

Harry’s hand comes up and he curls his fingers into Niall’s hair, only to yank harshly until Niall’s mouth opens up with a gasp. Harry takes the opportunity to snake his tongue into Niall’s mouth, pushing and prodding and licking with it until there’s nothing left inside that he hasn’t claimed. He pulls away, tugging at Niall’s hair again until the older boy gets the hint and exposes his neck with a whimper.

Harry latches onto the pale skin, sucking hard, purple marks into the skin one at a time until Niall’s throat is threatening to give out from the debauched moans that he’s letting loose. He tugs weakly at Harry’s hair, trying in vain to pull him back up for another kiss. He’s not having it though. Harry’s hands move as quick as lightning, gripping onto Niall’s wrist and pinning them above his head.

Niall has grown over the last few months, has developed a fair bit of muscle tone, but Harry is still bigger. He’s still stronger. He’s still able to keep both of Niall’s arms nailed to the floor under just one of his hands without ever having to focus on it. And fuck if Niall doesn’t love the way that it leaves him feeling helpless.

Harry ruts down against him hard, pushing the air out of Niall’s lungs in the form of a glass-rattling groan at the familiar feeling of Harry’s cock against his own. It doesn’t make the anger go away, doesn’t dissolve the resentment and loneliness that have built up in him over the last six months, but it does feel good. It feels so intimately, easily natural, and that’s something that Niall has missed more than he cares to admit. He’s not ready to forgive Harry, not by a longshot, but he’s also not strong enough to tell Harry to leave again.

If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t really want to either. He’s had warm bodies on him or under him or next to him, the occasional one getting more than a night’s worth of his attention, but none of them have been like this. None of them ever slotted so seamlessly and familiarly with his own. None of them were the perfect temperature, the perfect firmness, the perfect contrast of dominating and caring at the same time. None of them set his blood on fire, sent his heart racing, made his breathing shallow and anticipatory like this. None of them were Harry.

Harry’s teeth are sharp, but his tongue is soothing. His grip is hard, but his lips are soft. His breathing is fast, but the rolls of his hips are slow. Harry is like that though. He’s a hurricane and a soft summer rain at the same time. He’s a swirling vortex of contradictions and juxtapositions that mix together so chaotically, and yet so beautifully that it still takes Niall’s breath away even with all the anger that’s boiling under the surface of his skin.

Harry’s hand, the one that’s not still keeping Niall tight against the carpet, grips onto his left thigh, sliding up the skin and slipping under the fabric of the loose shorts that Niall has on. He stops just short of the boxer-briefs, another article that belonged to Harry before they became a permanent resident of Niall’s private Harry Styles collection. His fingers carve into the muscle of Niall’s thigh, a bruising pressure as intense as any crowd that they’ve ever performed in front of.

“How drunk are you?” Harry asks, the words slurred and heavy against the skin of Niall’s throat.

“Not drunk enough that you’d be taking advantage of it.” Niall admits. No, Harry wouldn’t be taking advantage of Niall’s inebriation. It’s Niall’s weakness that Harry is taking advantage of. It’s his fucking inability to refuse Harry Styles anything in the damn world that has him saying, “But not out here. The bed. I’m working with two bad legs at the moment.”

“Last I heard, your knee wasn’t giving you much trouble anymore.” Harry mumbles. “Saw that Instagram post you made about being able to touch your foot to your arse again.”

“Stalking pictures of my bum online were you?” Niall hums.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” Harry says with a short laugh. “I suppose I should give you a ride then. Take it easy on your legs until we get to the good part.”

He doesn’t give Niall a chance to respond before the weight of him is gone. He’s kneeling between Niall’s legs again, and there’s a mischievous grin parting his lips. He reaches down and slots his hands under Niall’s armpits, lifting him despite Niall’s squirming protest at the idea of being carried like a child. But of course Harry isn’t picking him to carry him around his waist. No, Harry decides to toss Niall over his shoulder like a fucking caveman instead, and Niall can’t help the shiver that runs electric fingers down his spine at how easily Harry can carry him like this.

There was a time when this would have gone differently, when Harry carrying Niall like this would have resulted in fits of giggles and a lot of mutual ass-slapping until they got to the bed. There was a time when sex between them was as natural as breathing, and Niall didn’t need to put on a front. They could laugh, and smile, and even make stupid jokes in the middle of it without ruining things.

Now though- Now it feels like a mistake in the making. It feels like Niall is just waiting for the storm that is Harry Styles to make landfall, but he’s just not able to run away. There’s nowhere left to run to where he could escape Hurricane Harry’s devastation. Niall’s not sure he wants to avoid it anyways. Some part of him, some stupid part, wants to feel the wind and the rain and the electricity in the air before it finally puts an end to him, washing him away with the rest of the debris.

Harry doesn’t need instructions to navigate Niall’s house, even though he hasn’t been here in ages. Doesn’t need to be reminded that Niall’s room is the one in the back, because Willie wanted the nicer bathroom. Or that the banister gets a bit wobbly at the top of the stairs, so it’s best not to rely on it if you’re carrying something. Or that Niall absolutely doesn’t allow shoes any further inside than the living room, no matter who you are or why you’re there. And it hurts a bit that he remembers all of that, that he’s kept all of these pieces of Niall as a secret part of himself as well, but that he never tried to fix things. It hurt knowing that he actually did matter, but he didn’t matter enough.

Harry tosses him down suddenly, a smug look on his face as Niall bounces up from the firm mattress with a yelp. He shouldn’t be surprised. Harry was never one for patience when it came to this. Sure, he’ll spend hours taking his lover apart with his fingers and his mouth before they ever actually fuck, but he doesn’t like waiting to get his hands on them. He doesn’t like the separation of skin that precedes things. He needs the contact. He places his hand on Niall’s shin and slides it down to the top of the boot that’s made Niall’s life so bloody difficult for the last few weeks.

“Do we need to leave this on, or-” Harry asks, leaving the question hanging in the air rather than finishing it. It’s something Harry only does when he’s nervous. For the first time in months, Niall actually sees the raw, visceral stress under Harry’s skin, tightening his muscles and paling his lips. He’s just as anxious, just as fucking terrified as Niall is, and that brings with it a sense of satisfaction for the blond.

“The boot’s mainly just for walking and shit. As long as you don’t go messing with it, then the brace underneath should be enough.” Niall explains. Harry waits for a second, eyes narrowed like he doesn’t quite believe Niall is telling the truth, so Niall adds, “Either take it off, or leave it on and I can use it to walk you the fuck out of my house.”

“I’m just trying to-” Harry starts.

“I don’t bloody need you looking out for me!” Niall snaps. “Been getting along on my own just fine without you! Are you going to fuck me, or are you going to leave? Those are the only two options, Styles. Make a fucking decision.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, instead giving his answer in the form of the ripping sound of Velcro being undone on the top strap of Niall’s boot. Half of Niall wishes that Harry had left, that he’d proved once again to be the coward that he is. The other half of Niall doesn’t know what to feel other than scared. Scared that Harry really is just using him as a hole to fuck again until something better comes along, or worse, that he really does mean what he’s said.

The thought of Harry wanting to get back together is terrifying. Well and truly terrifying. It makes Niall want to flee the fucking country, the continent. It makes him want to empty his accounts and run as fast and far as he can, leaving behind everything and everyone that he knows behind to find a place that isn’t tinged with the memory of Harry to hide for the rest of his life. The idea of opening himself back up to the man who’d hurt him worse than anyone ever has is unthinkable, and yet, here he is. All of his ‘no’s and ‘stop’s and ‘I can’t do this’s are trapped in the back of his throat, refusing to put themselves out in the air, and Niall isn’t stupid enough to think it’s for any reason other than that this is what he really wants. Harry is what he really wants, no matter how badly it hurts, or how much worse it’s going to hurt afterwards when the truth asserts itself as ruthlessly as it did before.

The weight and pressure that’s become almost familiar on his leg by now is relieved, pulling Niall out of his head to find Harry slipping the boot off and setting it on the floor. Niall flexes his foot to check the validity of his own argument, and is relieved to find that, while sore, it’s not extremely painful anymore. The healing process has been slow, but Niall is used to that after his knee. He can handle slow.

“Does it hurt?” Harry asks quietly, his hand wrapped gently around the skin just above the brace while he pulls off Niall’s sock.

“Not much.” Niall tells him. “Not like my knee did at this point.”

“What happened?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know.” Niall admits. “I got completely pissed, and when I woke up it hurt really badly and was all swollen up. I don’t know if I banged it into something or dropped something on it or what.”

“Never were careful with your body.” Harry mutters lowly. Niall barely manages to bite back the ‘or my heart’ on the tip of his tongue. Harry is trying to bait him into talking again, and Niall isn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He was serious when he gave Harry his two options. He can’t handle any more talking. He’s not really sure that he can handle any of this honestly. He’s just winging it at this point, acting on the impulses that are running through his brain like lightning.

Harry’s eyes are still locked on Niall’s foot, his thumb rubbing slow circles into the skin, and for some reason, it pisses Niall off. He pulls the jumper off over his head and throws it at Harry with a snarled, “Are we going to fuck, or not?”

Harry rolls his eyes and unbuttons his own shirt, laying it over the back of the chair by the door. Fucking ponce. The shirt is designed to look all crumpled, but god forbid it gets wrinkled on the floor. God forbid Harry just focus on Niall for once. He sits on the edge of the bed and scoots his jeans down his thighs. Niall has no bloody idea how he actually flies in those things when they’re so damn tight. He doesn’t get a lot of how Harry’s mind works though. He finds it endearing, loves how he can get lost for days trying to figure out how or why Harry does a certain thing a certain way, and he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to enjoy anything about Harry anymore.

He concentrates instead on what they’re there for, rooting through the drawer of his bedside table for some lube and a condom. He tosses the packet in Harry’s general direction and focuses on shoving his own shorts and pants down his legs until he can kick them off onto the floor. He wastes no time drizzling lube over his own fingers, spreading his legs and prodding at his hole, slipping in a finger.

Harry frowns at him when he notices, that one where his eyebrows draw together and his forehead creases, and he asks, “Since when don’t you let me take care of that?”

“Since about six months ago.” Niall replies icily.

“Fair enough.” Harry sighs.

“Besides, you take too bloody long doing this.” Niall mutters. “You finger as slow as you used to bloody talk.”

“You never said anything.” Harry mumbles.

“Because we were dating then, and it didn’t bother me.” Niall says, dropping his head back against the pillow while he pushes in with a second finger, the painful stretch of it grounding him to the moment. “But since we’re just having it off, I’m not about to wait for the next half an hour for you to do it all fucking slow.”

“Niall-” Harry starts, but that’s all he gets out.

“If you try to fucking talk again, then you can get the fuck out of my home and find somebody else to fuck or talk to, Styles.” Niall cuts him off with a low snarl. “That’s what I’m offering. Take it or leave it. Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me, but you need to make a decision right fucking now.”

“Fine.” Harry grits out, dropping his pants to the ground and crawling between Niall’s legs. He positions himself over Niall, one hand pressed into the mattress so that he’s hovering above the blond, and the other slips down to where Niall’s two fingers are stretching himself open. Without any warning, he slips a finger in between Niall’s when the blond scissors them apart, ignoring the sharp intake of breath he takes and finding his prostate in seconds, like it’s only been hours since they did this, rather than half a year. “You want to just get straight bloody to it, then we’ll get to it.”

His finger works quick, hard circles over the nerves, wracking Niall’s body with tremors that have him gripping the sheets and screaming soundless words into the air. His body responds so instinctively to Harry’s touch, loosening and relaxing at the familiar intrusion. He lets his fingers slip out, allowing Harry to take over the process, which the younger lad does easily, pressing in two more fingers to stop the whine Niall lets out at the loss. It’s dry and dragging, but carefully slow, the way he always used to do it. Harry may take to bloody long, but he also always makes it good, always makes it so that the burn that comes with stretching doesn’t actually hurt.

Harry presses in to connect their lips, but Niall turns his face to the side, refusing the contact. “Niall.” Harry growls.

“No.” Niall says adamantly. “That’s not what this is.”

“And what exactly is it that you think we’re doing here?” Harry asks, pulling his fingers free from Niall’s hole with a speed that makes the blond hiss.

“Having a bloody one off.” Niall answers.

“And you’re going to tell me-” Harry starts, tearing open the condom wrapper before he continues with, “In all your one-offs, you never kissed any of them?”

“I did.” Niall admits, his mouth watering as he watches Harry roll on the condom and lube himself up. Harry has a bloody gorgeous cock. There’s no point in denying that, or the way that the sight of him stroking himself makes Niall’s own prick throb in arousal. “But with them it never meant anything. With you, it did once. I don’t want you thinking that this means anything.”

Harry grabs the back of Niall’s knees, pushing them back against his chest. He holds them both with one forearm, freeing his other hand to help guide himself in. He bottoms out in a quick, hard thrust before letting Niall’s legs go, and mutters, “Tough fucking tits, Horan. You can’t act like this doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Shut up and fuck me already.” Niall groans, rolling his hips.

“Can fuck you and talk at the same time.” Harry smirks, pulling his hips back only to snap them back forward harshly. “And since I’m giving you what you want, I think it’s time you gave me what I do.”

“All you want is my arse.” Niall mutters, gripping onto Harry’s love handles to pull him in harder.

“I. Want. You. Back.” Harry counters, each word punctuated by the loud slap of skin on skin.

“Never going to fucking happen.” Niall gasps out, blunted fingernails digging into Harry’s skin.

“Why not?” Harry asks, leaning in until he and Niall are breathing the same air in shallow, breathless pants. He grips onto Niall’s hips, making sure that the blond’s legs are hooked behind his back, and rolls them in a fluid motion, leaving himself leaning back against the headboard, and Niall clinging to his torso as he instinctively rides back onto Harry’s cock. The position leaves Harry completely in control though, his hands lifting Niall up, just to slam him back down. “I love you, and I know you still love me. Why can’t we give things another go?”

“It won’t work.” Niall moans, getting into the rhythm that Harry is setting and doing what little he can to hurry things along.

“I love you.” Harry whispers.

“Not enough.” Niall grunts.

“More than you can even imagine, Niall.” Harry says, fisting his hand around Niall’s cock now that the blond is working his hips more fervently, and need less direction.

“I deserve better than you.” Niall chokes out.

“I know.” Harry mumbles, the words hot and indistinct from where Harry is kissing at Niall’s chest. “But I want to be better for you, Ni. I want to be everything that you deserve.”

The tears come quickly, doing nothing to stop Niall fucking himself down hard and fast on Harry’s cock. His breathing becomes ragged, his lungs not filling properly, and Harry cups a hand around his neck to bring him down and kiss away the tears. “You left me.” Niall sobs. “I loved you so much, and you fucking left me.”

“But I’ll never leave you again.” Harry murmurs, fitting his lips gently against Niall’s own. It’s slow and syrupy, tinged with the taste of salt, and it opens the flood gates until Niall is openly crying. His eyes redden and swell up, and he can feel mucus beginning to smear above his lip, but none of it deters Harry. He keeps thrusting up into Niall and working his hand over the older lad’s cock, kissing him like the bloody world depends on it. They don’t break the kiss properly, Niall’s arms curled around Harry’s neck too tightly to give them much room at all. But it’s enough to let Harry say, “I promise, Niall. All I want is to be with you. I love you.”

“Fuck!” Niall screams, his body going taut with the force of his orgasm. It rips him to shreds, his vision going white and his heart stopping in his chest until all he can see and taste and hear and feel is Harry. His lips crash into Harry’s, tongue pushing into the brunet’s mouth and laying claim to him the same way that Harry had done earlier to Niall. He pulls back and breathes out, “I love you too.”

Harry goes still, his hands gripping onto Niall’s body so hard that he knows that they’re going to leave bruises. He doesn’t mind. Fuck, he’s never minded. The brands on the surface are nothing compared to the marks Harry has left all over Niall’s heart. His name is tattooed over every inch of Niall’s soul, and no matter how badly Niall wishes he could change that, he knows that he can’t.

Niall pulls off, sparing them both the discomfort of doing it later, and collapses down into the bed beside Harry. He turns on his side, away from the body next to him, but finds himself surrounded by the other boy in the space between heartbeats. His arms are wrapped tightly around Niall’s chest, and his legs tangled with the blond’s. Harry’s breath hits the back of Niall’s neck, sending shivers down his spine, and he whispers, “I’m serious, Niall. I’m serious about us. I know I fucked up so badly, and I can’t ever really make up for that. I want a chance to though. I want a chance to show you that you mean the world to me, and there’s nobody else that I want.”

“I’m scared.” Niall admits.

“I know.” Harry sighs. “And I know that you have every reason to be. I promise though, Niall. I promise I’m not going to leave unless you make me.”

“I can’t just jump back into things, and act like none of this ever happened, Harry.” Niall tells him. “I can’t go from hating your guts to being like we were before in no time at all.”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Harry says gently. “I just want to be with you, however I can. If you want to start over completely, we can do that.”

“I’m not sure how to do that though. I mean- Fuck- We literally just shagged a minute ago. We were together for a year, and then broken up for six months. How do we start over?” Niall asks, rolling over to be face to face with Harry. “Do we just pretend that none of it ever happened? Do we pretend that we don’t love each other already? Or that that love isn’t completely and totally fucked up?”

“No.” Harry answers quietly. “No, we can’t act like nothing has ever happened between us. And there’s no way that I could pretend that I don’t love you. I think we’ll just have to take it one day at a time. It’s going to take a little bit, and there’s probably going to be some fighting. If we can get past that though, if we can get everything out, then I think we can have a real chance at being happy together.”

“You’re going to have to accept that I’m going to be angry with you for a while.” Niall sighs. “Because I’m pissed off, and that isn’t going away instantly, even if I give you another chance.”

“I accepted that before I ever came here.” Harry says with a slight smile. “And that’s okay. You’re allowed to be angry, and I’ll take it all. It’s completely worth it to me. I want to really fix things, Niall. I don’t want to slap a plaster on it and just hope that you just stop resenting me one day. Healing this is going to be a long and painful process, but I’m all in.”

“And I want a commitment from you.” Niall adds. “Not- Not like a ring or anything. But I want you to promise that you’re really going to try this time. That you aren’t going to just shag me a few times and run off again.”

“I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t completely committed to this, Niall.” Harry murmurs. “I told you I would have said yes if you’d asked me to marry you, and I meant it.”

“And if I ever see you and _him_ together again, I’ll string you up by your balls and hang you off of bloody London Bridge.” Niall growls.

“As long as _she_ stays away.” Harry counters.

“I have no problems with that.” Niall chuckles. “ _She_ may be the best sex I’ve ever had, but-”

“I swear to god-” Harry snarls, digging his fingernails into Niall’s shoulders. “If you say that one more time, I will bloody lose it and fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name, let alone _hers_.”

“Relax, Styles.” Niall hums. “You know that you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“Hips don’t lie. Make you wanna-?” Harry grins, reaching his hand down and gliding it over Niall’s soft prick.

“One more night.” Niall giggles. “Or maybe more than one. Depends on how it goes.”

“Don’t suppose you’d let me stay here tonight?” Harry asks. “Plane ride was bloody exhausting.”

“Stay.” Niall whispers, clinging just a bit tighter to Harry. “I don’t- I don’t know how I’m going to feel about all of this in the morning, but I’d like you to stay tonight. Just got you back, and I’m not ready to let go yet.”

“Me either.” Harry hums. “We should sleep now. We’ll work things out more properly in the morning.”

“Better make that afternoon.” Niall says through a yawn, his eyes drooping a bit as he starts to relax enough in Harry’s embrace to begin falling asleep. “Probably going to have a hell of a hangover.”

“And I’ll take care of you through it.” Harry mumbles sleepily.

 

Niall wakes up suddenly, the regrettably familiar sensation of needing to vomit and rid himself of the excessive amount of alcohol that has become such a daily part of his life asserting itself harshly. His feet hit the floor, and he makes a break for the bathroom, barely ducking down over the toilet in time to keep himself from having to clean up his own puke with a throbbing hangover.

His whole body is sore, his neck, his hips, his foot, but one part in particular stands out to him through the pain in his head. His arse, and it’s sore in a very familiar and particular way. He doesn’t even remember going out to pull last night, can’t imagine what kind of drunken ranting he’d done at Basil to get him to escort the blond out when he was already pissed, but that’s a secondary concern. The primary one is that he was very definitely alone in the bed when he woke up, so he has no idea who or where this guy is. He doesn’t know if the bloke has taken pictures of him, or stolen from him, or if he escorted the lad out afterwards. He doesn’t have a fucking clue.

Once his stomach finishes emptying itself into the loo, and he’s sure that he can stand without killing himself by accident, he picks himself up off of the floor and resolves for the hundredth time to never drink again. Then again, he’s got six O2 dates coming up in rapid succession with Harry, and he doubts that he’ll stick with that resolution.

The first thing he does once he makes his way out of the bathroom is to tug on some shorts, and then his boot. He probably didn’t do his foot any favors with his mad dash earlier, but he didn’t exactly have time to do the damn thing up. He pulls on a discarded t-shirt from the floor, and then finally takes a look at himself in the mirror, only to blanch at the sight. Whoever this bloke was last night, he wasn’t gentle. Niall has an array of purpled bruises sucked over nearly every inch of his neck. It’s going to take ages to cover that all up with makeup for the damn shows.

He makes his way out of the bedroom towards the kitchen, and stops in his tracks when he smells bacon frying. “Willie?” Niall calls out tentatively. Fucking hell. Willie was supposed to be gone for two days. If Niall has been blacked out for a day and a half, then he may really need to consider stopping his consumption of alcohol. “That you mate?”

“That’s the second time in twelve hours that you’ve called me Willie. I’m starting to suspect something’s been going on between you two, despite the familial relation.” a familiar voice hums, making Niall’s stomach churn. If he hadn’t already emptied himself completely, he’s positive that he’d be throwing up again right now.

“What the bloody fucking cunting hell do you think you’re doing in my house?” Niall growls, turning the corner into the kitchen.

“Niall-” Harry sighs, setting down his tongs.

He doesn’t get anything else out before all of last night slams into Niall with all of the force of a freight-train, hitting him so hard that he has to grab onto the wall just to keep standing. It beats him down with perfect clarity, the fight, and the fuck, and the aftermath. “Oh fucking shit.” Niall breathes out. “We had it off, didn’t we?”

“And then some, yeah.” Harry says cautiously.

“Oh god.” Niall groans, reaching out blindly until he finds the back of a chair to pull out and sit down on. He drops his forehead against the table and mutters, “Bloody fucking hell damn cunt fuck piss shit!”

“That’s not quite as optimistic about things as I hoped you’d be.” Harry says quietly.

“Shut the fuck up!” Niall hisses, pointing in the general vicinity of where Harry’s voice had come from. “Don’t fucking talk right now. You don’t get to talk until I think of some way to turn back time and actually hit you with that bottle.”

“You’re probably going to want to eat something before you try diving into quantum physics.” Harry chuckles, setting something down on the table by Niall’s head. “Made you some tea to start with. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. I wasn’t expecting you to be out of bed quite so early.”

“What part of ‘shut the fuck up’ don’t you understand?” Niall grunts, groping without looking until he finds his cup of tea and sits up to drink it. It’s exactly the right temperature, has the perfect amount of sugar, and it makes Niall want to scream because Harry still remembers all of these little things about him. “Last I checked you weren’t fucking deaf, and you're only moderately stupid.”

“If you keep that up, I’m going to take your bacon straight past crispy and into burned.” Harry tuts.

“Fuck you.” Niall grumbles.

“When you’re feeling better.” Harry smirks.

“Just plate up the food and get the hell out.” Niall huffs, taking a sip of his tea.

“I didn’t make all of this not to get a bite before I leave.” Harry counters.

“If you stick around, one of the two of us is going to end up dead.” Niall growls.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Harry hums.

“I didn’t think I could possibly hate you more than I already did.” Niall sighs. “I really just did not think that it was humanly possible. And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are.” Harry nods. He picks up the bacon off of the pan and puts it on a couple of plates, walking over to the table and setting one down in front of Niall before taking his own seat. “How much of last night do you remember?”

“All of it.” Niall mutters before adding, “Unfortunately.”

“So this-” Harry starts, waving his hand in Niall’s general direction. “Is this you still being mad at me like you warned me about, or is it cold feet?”

“There’s nothing to get cold feet about.” Niall tells him. “I was drunk. I was out of my damn mind ever agreeing to give you another chance.”

“Niall-” Harry says gently. “I know it’s going to take some time for us to be okay, but don’t try and lie to me. Don’t pretend that you didn’t mean everything you said last night. You may be pissed off and scared and having second thoughts, but last night was real, and we both know it.”

“I can’t do it, Harry.” Niall whispers. “I can’t do this.”

“Why?” Harry asks. “What changed between last night and this morning that you can’t try anymore?”

“My blood-alcohol level for one.” Niall scoffs. “Last night I was caught up in things. I was caught up in everything that you were saying, and what we did, and it made me stupid. It made me believe that you meant what you were saying.”

“I did mean what I was saying.” Harry says adamantly. “I still mean it.”

“How am I supposed to trust that, Harry?” Niall asks sharply. “How the fuck am I ever supposed to trust you again? It’s one thing to come back here after six months, most of which you spent dating another man, and tell me that you want to commit to me. It’s another thing entirely to mean it, and I just don’t believe that you mean it.”

“Niall, I know how you feel, but-” Harry starts, making Niall bristle.

“No you fucking don’t!” Niall snaps. “You don’t know how I feel. You don’t know what it’s like to be left in the bin by the one person you thought you could trust above anyone else! The person that you thought was the love of your life! You don’t know what it’s like to have to walk through every fucking day pretending like your self-worth didn’t all fucking disappear the second that things were over because you didn’t know why it happened!

“I couldn’t breathe, Harry! I couldn’t think, or speak, or feel unless I put on a mask and pushed everything down until there was nothing left about me that was real. Every fucking day for the last six months, I’ve just been trying to survive what you did to me. I’ve been hating myself because I thought that I just wasn’t good enough for you. And the thing is, that actually hurts less than the truth. Thinking that you left me because I wasn’t enough, because you didn’t love me, I thought that was the worst pain imaginable until last night. And then you told me that it was because I loved you too much.

“So no, Harry, you don’t know how I fucking feel. You don’t know how I feel at all, because it didn’t happen to you. You were involved, but it didn’t happen to you. You want to pretend like you’ve been hurting the same way I have, but it isn’t true. I’m not saying that this didn’t all hurt you in some way, because I do believe you when you say that it did, but it didn’t hurt you in the same way. You don’t know how I feel.”

“You’re right.” Harry sighs. “I don’t know how you feel. I got off easy in comparison. And asking you for all of this, for a second chance, for your trust back, it’s a lot. I know that it’s a lot. But I also know that even if you aren’t ready to forgive me or trust me or get back together with me, I’m not changing my mind. I love you and I want to be with you. I’ve fucked up a lot, but I can’t start helping heal that wound if you don’t give me a second chance.”

“What makes you think that I could open myself up to that again, Harry?” Niall asks quietly. “I can’t handle it again. I’ve barely made it this time, and I haven’t exactly done that in a healthy way. But if you did it again- I- I don’t know what would happen to me. And there’s this really stupid part of me, telling me to take a leap of faith, but I just don’t trust you to catch me, Harry.”

“Do you trust that I love you?” Harry asks, sliding out of his chair and kneeling on both of his knees by Niall’s side. “Just putting everything else aside for the moment, do you believe that I love you?”

“I believe that you think that you love me.” Niall tells him. “I just don’t think that you really know what love is. Not the kind I’d need from you, anyways. I think you might miss having me as your friend, and you might miss the intimacy of the connection we had when we were together, but I don’t think that you know your own heart well enough to give it to someone else. I don’t think you’re ready yet to actually love somebody wholly and completely. Because love is really fucking scary, Harry, and you’re a coward.”

“I was.” Harry agrees. “But I’m trying not to be. I’m trying to be better. For you, and for myself. Because I don’t want to be the kind of person who could hurt you ever again, Niall. I ran, and that was a cowardly thing to do, yeah. I came back too. I came back, even though I had no real hope of ever hearing you admit that you still love me after everything that I’ve put you through. I had to try. I had to. Because the one thing that I know for sure in this fucked up, cowardly, scattered head of mine, is that you’re worth fighting for. So that’s what I’m doing here. I’m fighting for you.

“And you said that you think that I don’t know what love really is, but I do, Niall. I know, because there’s not a day that went by since I left you that I haven’t dreamt about you and I being together. Not one day has passed where I didn’t hate myself for running. You are the only person in the world that I want to spend my life with. I want to fall asleep with you and wake up to you every day until we’re old and wrinkled. I want to spend my life making you smile, and holding you when you’re upset. I want to have adventures with you, and be at peace with you. I want to be happy with you, and sad with you, and angry, and tired, and everything else there is to be. I want to watch those lines you get when you laugh become a permanent feature on your face, and I want to be the one to put them there. I want to make you happy. I don’t have any right to do this, but I’m asking for a chance to make that come true. I’m asking for a chance to make you happy.”

“Why?” Niall asks. “Why now, after all of this time?”

“Because I couldn’t stand another day being apart from you.” Harry tells him softly. “As soon as I stepped off of the plane, I knew that I couldn’t wait anymore. I came straight here in a town car. I haven’t seen anyone except the driver.”

“Well that explains the luggage.” Niall mutters. “But it doesn’t really answer my question. What changed that you decided that you had to come now?”

“Because, when _he_ said that he loved me, it hit me that I never want to hear those words like that again from anyone who isn’t you.” Harry murmurs. “They only feel right with you.”

“You’re saying all the right things, Harry.” Niall sighs. “But that’s part of the problem. You’ve never had any difficulty finding exactly the words that someone wants to hear to get you what you want. And I can’t tell if you actually mean anything that you’re saying, because I don’t know if you’ve ever really meant anything that you’ve said to me, Harry. I don’t know if you’ve ever meant it when you told me that you loved me. Especially now.”

“Do you really think that?” Harry asks weakly. “Is that really the kind of person that you think I am, Niall?”

“I’m scared that it might be.” Niall mumbles. “Harry, you left me out of nowhere. I never saw it coming. You pushed up your flight without telling me, and left me a voicemail from the airport saying that you just couldn’t do it anymore, because you thought that I felt more for you than you did for me.”

“That was the lie, Niall.” Harry says desperately. “That was the only lie I ever told you.”

“Where was the lie, Harry?” Niall asks. “You did feel like my feelings for you were stronger than yours were for me. When faced with the idea of a possible future together, you didn’t want it. You said so last night.”

“What I said was that it scared me, Niall.” Harry argues. “I never said that I didn’t want it. The lie was in me telling you that I loved you with anything less than my entire heart.”

“Then why wouldn’t you marry me?” Niall chokes out, tears blurring the edges of his vision before he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Because I wasn’t good enough for you.” Harry answers, taking Niall’s face between the comfortable, familiar warmth of his hands. “Niall, if you’d asked me to marry you back then, I would have said yes. I would have said yes in an instant, but I would have known in my heart that I wasn’t good enough to be the man you marry. I’m still not. I just know now that I’m not going to be able to become the kind of man you deserve if I’m not with you.”

“Harry.” Niall whispers, the name barely breaching his lips before he’s lurching forward out of the chair and burying himself in the other boy’s neck. He sobs loudly, drawing in deep, rasping breaths between each because his lungs don’t feel like they’re filling properly. Harry holds him with a fierce determination, every muscle in his arms hardened like a shield around Niall’s body.

Niall has never been like this, never been one to cry in front of anyone if he can help it, hating the pity that feels almost mocking, but it feels surprisingly liberating to be able to do it now. Nothing about the way Harry is holding him, or stroking his hair, or murmuring in Niall’s ear that ‘everything is going to be okay’, feels mocking. It doesn’t feel condescending, or fake, or pitying. It feels like he’s been away from home for forever, and he’s finally found his way back.

He doesn’t know how much time passes while he’s in Harry’s arms, crying on the floor of his kitchen, but Harry never loosens his grip or falters in the comforting things he’s saying. He never expresses any discomfort, even though it occurs to Niall that the position probably isn’t doing any favors for Harry’s back. Eventually all of the pent up emotions that Niall has spent the last six months fighting have leaked out of him. It’s not over, nothing has really been fixed, and Niall isn’t healed by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s a good first step.

“I’ve missed you.” Niall mumbles against Harry’s collarbone.

“I’ve missed you too.” Harry says softly. “So, so much, Ni.”

“I got your shoulder all gross.” Niall sighs.

“That’s fine. I needed a shower anyways.” Harry chuckles. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Niall admits. His head is pounding, and he feels a bit dried out, and his stomach is threatening to erupt again, but he really does feel better. “We should probably get off of the floor.”

“I’ll get started on breakfast again.” Harry laughs. “Since we let it go cold.”

“I’m not really that hungry.” Niall tells him, grabbing onto the edge of the table to help lift himself up. Harry scrambles to his own feet quickly and wraps his arms around Niall’s chest to pick him up. Any other time, Niall would have bitched endlessly about it, but the boot makes his leg a bit unwieldy, so he shyly mumbles out, “Thank you.”

“No problem, babe.” Harry says gently, with a kiss pressed into Niall’s fringe. “I know that you said that you aren’t hungry, but you should still eat some toast at least. You need something in your stomach.”

“Don’t be a nag.” Niall huffs. “It was never an attractive quality of yours.”

“I’m not a nag.” Harry says with a pout. “I just want to take care of you. Like I said last night, you never were careful with your body.”

“I know.” Niall grunts, grabbing a piece of toast and shoving the corner into his mouth. Harry’s face lights up with a grin, but Niall keeps his features flat while he chews it mechanically. The actual act of eating right now feels nasty, but he knows that he’ll appreciate it later, once the bread begins to absorb the roiling stomach acid and leftover whiskey. He finishes chewing and asks, “Where do we go from here?”

“Literally? The shower.” Harry hums. “Figuratively? The ball is still in your court, Niall. You’re going to have to be the one who decides how to proceed. The last time I made a decision about our relationship ended up going pretty poorly.”

“Actually, the last time that you made a decision about our relationship, you broke into my house, had sex with me, made me breakfast, and then held me while I had a mental breakdown on the floor.” Niall points out. “It’s not what I would call ideal, but I’m still more optimistic than not about the outcome.”

“I didn’t ‘break in’.” Harry grumbles. “You never asked for your key back, and apparently never changed the locks. I may have technically trespassed, but I didn’t ‘break in’.”

“Yes, that was definitely the important part of what I said.” Niall scowls.

“I’m just defending myself against unjust accusations of criminal activity.” Harry counters. “I may be a fuck up, but I’m not a criminal. As for you being optimistic, I figured it was best not to comment on that, seeing as you’ve gone through some pretty intense mood swings in the last twelve hours, and I’d rather not say anything to piss you off again.”

“Fair enough.” Niall sighs. “It’s probably going to take a while for my emotions to balance out when it comes to you. Because when I look at you, I’m torn between snogging you, fucking you, and punching you in the testicles so hard that they rupture.”

“I- Um- Please don’t do that.” Harry stammers, his legs clamping shut with a loud clap. “The thing with my bollocks that is. The other stuff is fine. More than fine really.”

“I’m sure.” Niall snorts. “Single-minded as ever.”

“Well it’s not like you gave me a chaste option that wasn’t painful.” Harry huffs. “There are a lot of things that I want to do with you that aren’t sexual, Niall.”

“Name one.” Niall smirks.

“I want to take you out on the golf course and see if we can do anything about your swing, first off.” Harry says with a grin.

“Oi!” Niall growls.

“Come off it.” Harry waves him off. “I saw you at Augusta. Your slip wasn’t half as embarrassing to you as that swing you took, and we both know it.”

“Rory was really nice about it afterwards.” Niall sighs. “But that only mildly helped.”

“How nice?” Harry asks, his voice a bit too even and face a bit too neutral, to be believable.

“Not that nice.” Niall scoffs. “We’re just friends.”

“Just checking.” Harry says, feigning innocence.

“Sure you were.” Niall says with a roll of his eyes. “I need to go shower, and then find a bloody roll-neck to cover up all these fucking bruises on my neck.”

“Go on. I’ll be back in a few minutes once I’ve had a bit more to eat.” Harry tells him.

“Who said I was inviting you to join me?” Niall asks.

“I- I thought-” Harry stammers.

“All I’ve said is that I missed you and that I’m optimistic, Harry.” Niall points out. “I didn’t say that we can get back together.”

“Oh.” Harry breathes out, his eyes locked on his hands. “Of course. Sorry.”

“I need some time to think about this.” Niall says quietly. “I- I’m not saying no. I just need a bit of time to figure out how I feel about all of this. Preferably alone, so that I don’t make a decision on a whim. I don’t want to take you back just because it feels good having you around, only to regret it later. I also don’t want to push you away just because I’m still angry, and regret that later. Please, just give me a little while to figure out if I can forgive you and do this for real.”

“Okay.” Harry nods.

“You can join me in the shower, as long as you don’t push anything, but then you should go.” Niall tells him.

“Whatever you want.” Harry agrees.

Niall doesn’t say anything else as he gets up from the table, the only sound in the room the heavy thump of his boot against the tile. The silence feels a bit damning, like an omen waiting to burst forth, but Niall ignores that. He meant it when he said that he was optimistic. He’s missed Harry more than he even realized over these last six months, and while the prospect of getting back together scares the shit out of Niall, it also fills him with hope from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.

He doesn’t want to make a rash decision that’ll hurt them both, though. So he needs time, and space, and probably a head that isn’t clouded by alcohol or a hangover. Taking a shower is a good way to take care of that last one, so he turns the water on, and closes the shower door. It takes more effort than it should to get himself stripped off completely, his thoughts focused more on Harry than on the actual task at hand, and he nearly kills himself tripping headfirst into the edge of the counter while struggling to get his boot off.

Strong arms grab Niall just in time to stop the marble from taking his eye out, and he breathes out shakily before saying, “Thanks.”

“How about I take that off for you?” Harry offers.

“That might be for the best.” Niall sighs.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, steering Niall around and lifting him up until the blond is sitting on the counter. He kneels down in front of Niall, and begins undoing the Velcro much more gently than the night before.

“Yeah.” Niall answers. “Just wasn’t paying enough attention to what I was supposed to be doing. Lost my balance.”

“With the way you’ve been going, I’m a bit afraid to leave you on your own.” Harry chuckles. “When’s Willie getting back?”

“Tomorrow, I think.” Niall tells him. “I don’t really know. He left without telling me he was going anywhere.”

“That’s not like him.” Harry says, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I- I haven’t been good company these last few days.” Niall admits. “Once I got in, I just got really mad. I’ve basically yelled non-stop about you being a piece of shit since I got off of the plane.”

“I suppose I deserve that.” Harry sighs.

“I’m sorry.” Niall mumbles. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just- It’s been a rough few months for me. I was depressed, and then I tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, and then I just stopped caring about anything for a while. I guess anger was the next step for me. I don’t want to be this angry. I just am.”

“You should take it out on me, not Willie.” Harry says softly, sliding off Niall’s boot, and then his brace.

“You weren’t exactly around.” Niall mutters.

“I’m here now.” Harry says, standing up. “I can take it, Niall. Whatever you have to say, I can take it.”

“I’ve said everything I have to say, Harry.” Niall sighs.

“No, you haven’t.” Harry says, helping Niall up off of the counter again, giving him something to lean against while he hobbles to the shower. He maneuvers Niall into the chair that the doctor had ordered for him to keep in the shower to stop him from putting unnecessary pressure on his foot, closing the shower door behind them, and adds, “I know you haven’t. Because at least a part of you wants this back, and you think I’ll leave if you tell me everything. I won’t though, Niall. Nothing you can say will turn me away.”

“I wished it had been you.” Niall admits in a whisper. “Not Zayn. I wished that it had been you who left the band. Even before you started bringing _him_ around, I wished that you were gone, so I’d never have to see you in person again. I wanted you to go so badly that I prayed for it every night. Every time I heard a rumor about you wanting to leave like Zayn did, I hoped and wished and pled with God that it was true. And every time that it turned out to be false, I hated you a little more, because you couldn’t even do that for me.”

“Keep going.” Harry urges him. “I know there’s more.”

“I wanted something horrible to happen to you.” Niall tells him. “Not just bad, but truly horrible. Like cancer. I wanted you to be rotting inside like I felt like I was. I wanted you to suffer for everything that you’d put me through. God, I hated you so fucking much that I actually wished you’d die. I wished that you’d end up six feet under, so I could piss on your grave and laugh.”

“That’s okay.” Harry says gently, passing over the shampoo.

“I wished that _he’d_ filmed you two together and leaked it to ruin you.” Niall mutters. “I wished that your vocal cords would give out so you could never sing again. I wished that you’d fall in love with _him_ and _he’d_ break your heart. I wished that you’d lose everyone and everything that you ever cared about, so that you could feel a fraction of what I did.”

“What else?” Harry asks.

“I don’t forgive you.” Niall breathes out. “And I don’t know if I ever can. You broke me, and there’s a part of me that wants to break you back.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” Harry questions. “Are you going to take me back just to break my heart somewhere down the line as revenge?”

“No.” Niall says, shaking his head. “Because, whether I still want to be, or not, I’m in love with you. I don’t want to hurt you. I wanted those things because I was in pain, but none of it was ever real except wishing you’d leave, and that was just so I wouldn’t have to keep putting on a brave face. Even after everything that happened, I still want you to be happy.”

“It would be alright if you really felt those things, Ni.” Harry says quietly. “You don’t need to try and protect my feelings. You don’t have to say that you want me to be happy if you don’t mean it.”

“I’m not.” Niall says, brushing Harry’s hair out of his eyes so he can look into them. “I have hated you, but only because I still love you. And I do want you to be happy. I just don’t know if I want you to find that happiness with me or not. I don’t know if I have it in me to open myself up to the kind of damage that you could cause for a second time. I thought I knew what I was getting into last time, with your history, but I wasn’t prepared at all. Now I know exactly what you could do to me, and this time it wouldn’t be your fault. It would be mine. If I took you back, and you broke me all over again, I could only blame myself for getting hurt.”

“I don’t suppose that anything I say or do is going to help with that, is it?” Harry asks.

“No.” Niall sighs, leaning back in the chair and squirting out the shampoo into his palm before working it into his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m not saying any of this to hurt you. It’s just a difficult decision, and I have to make it myself.”

“Take as much time as you need.” Harry says with a soft smile. “I’m more than willing to wait on your answer.”

They don’t speak again for a while. Niall focuses on trying not to stare at Harry’s body, tighter and tanner than he remembers it, glistening with water and soap, with several choice parts right at eye-level for Niall in his chair. It’s a more difficult task than it should be. Harry, for his part, makes things easier by resorting to the same kind of behavior he does when he showers alone. He’s resting his head on his forearm, leaning against the wall, and just letting the spray batter his back while he lazily soaps himself down. The temperature of the water is creating enough steam to keep Niall warm though, so he doesn’t mind that Harry is hogging the water. It has a tendency to hit him in the face at this level anyways.

They switch once Niall rinses out his hair, and Harry begins the torturous process of taking care of his own locks that are hanging like a thick curtain around his head. Every muscle in his upper body flexes and twists and strains as he works it in, creating a visual symphony of motion that unfolds before Niall’s eyes. He has to squeeze them shut and think about that time he walked in on his grandmother stepping out of the bath just to keep from getting hard. Harry’s probably not doing it on purpose, but he’s making things much more difficult for Niall at the moment.

So Niall starts a list in his head to clear everything else out. A list of the pros and cons of getting back together with Harry.

Harry held him while he was crying. **Pro**.

Harry is the reason that Niall has been crying for months. **Con**.

Harry makes breakfast. **Pro**.

Harry snores. **Con**.

Harry might be the only person in the world who completely understands Niall. **Pro**.

Harry has a tendency to not listen to him when things get rough. **Con**.

He misses Harry. **Pro**.

Harry left him. **Con**.

Niall loves Harry, even after everything that’s happened. **Undecided**.

“Stand up. I’ll get your back.” Harry says, pulling Niall out of the trance he was in.

“I’m not supposed to stand up when I don’t have the brace on.” Niall mumbles.

“Then I hope your knee strength is good enough to just stand on your left leg.” Harry chuckles. “I’ll help support you if you need it.”

“Thanks.” Niall sighs, grabbing ahold of the bar he had installed to lift himself up. Harry helps, slipping an arm around Niall’s waist and turning him until he’s facing the wall. Niall makes sure he’s steady, hands camped tight onto the bar, before he lifts his bad foot up off of the shower floor, and adds, “It’s been a while since I was sure I got my entire back. The chair makes things difficult.”

“I can only imagine.” Harry hums, running the soap over Niall’s back in slow circles. “How much longer do you have to wear it?”

“A while.” Niall grumbles. “A few more weeks at least. I hate the bloody thing.”

“That’s hardly surprising.” Harry laughs. “You never did like having to sit around and wait for things to get better. You were an absolute menace after your knee. Nearly gave me a few dozen heart-attacks.”

“That’s because you’re a mother-hen.” Niall snorts. “It’s why you’re such a nag.”

“Don’t get smart with me while I’m doing you a favor.” Harry huffs, reaching down and giving Niall’s bum a harsh pinch that makes the blond yelp and throw a glare over his shoulder.

“You’re not doing yourself any favors right now, that’s for sure.” Niall growls.

“Since when don’t you like it when I play with your arse?” Harry asks with a cocky smirk.

“Since I’m trying not to fall and break my neck.” Niall hisses. “And also since I’m trying not to do the whole ‘rupturing your testes with my fist’ thing that I mentioned earlier. Or maybe since we’re not actually back together right now. We’re not really at the ‘playful arse groping’ stage right now, Harry.”

“I know.” Harry whispers. “I’m sorry. I guess I just keep getting too excited that it’s even a possibility. I don’t really know how to act right now.”

“Me either.” Niall admits. “So maybe it’s best just to finish up and go our separate ways for the time being, until I have this figured out.”

“Ok.” Harry sighs. He works the soap a bit quicker after that, lathering Niall’s back and bum down without any of the playful gentleness that had been there a moment ago, until a minute later when he announces, “Done.”

“I’m going to need you to hold me still while I rinse off.” Niall mumbles.

“Of course.” Harry nods, helping Niall twist around until he’s got the harsh spray beating down on his back. And it feels nice to be like this, chest to chest with Harry, the younger boy’s hands firm on his hips, but Niall can’t, for the life of him, figure out if it feels right. So he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look up and meet Harry’s eyes, because he doesn’t know what will happen if he does. He doesn’t know if he’ll break down and cry again, or snap with anger, or push Harry up against the wall and snog him until his foot snaps in half. He literally has no idea what’ll happen, and he doesn’t want to risk anything, because he also has no idea what to feel right now. He’s pulled out of his head by Harry saying, “The water is going to run cold soon, and I still need to rinse my hair.”

“Sorry.” Niall breathes out, wondering just how long he’d been under, contemplating the possibilities of each course of action. “Yeah- I, uh- I’ll just get out now.”

“Do you-” Harry starts.

“I’ll be fine.” Niall cuts him off, using the bar to maneuver around Harry until the brunet is standing under the water, looking like he has something that he wants to say, but keeping it behind tight lips. Niall steps out of the shower, using the wall for support, and grabs a towel that he uses to haphazardly dry himself off. He’s rushing as best as he can, tugging on the foot brace so quickly that it hurts, and grabbing his boot before fleeing the bathroom entirely, naked and still damp and trying not to run on a fractured foot. He just needs to be out of there before Harry finishes up.

He grabs clothes that he knows have never been worn by Harry, and have no memories attached to them. He picks up the jumper that he’d been wearing yesterday off of the floor, feels the intimately familiar sensation of the fabric under the pads of his fingers, and has to fight every cell in his body not to put it on. He knows that it will just muck everything up in his head, and he can’t let that happen.

He’s just gotten the boot on when Harry steps out of the bathroom, steam billowing around him in thick clouds that seem to lick over his body. There’s a towel slung carelessly around his hips, and another piled on top of his head, and Niall has to suppress the urge to smile. He loves the way that Harry’s eyebrows scrunch up and his lips purse when he goes through the bag that he must have brought in before he joined Niall. He loves the way that he can see the debate in Harry’s eyes over what to wear, and it feels familiar. It feels like countless mornings spent exactly like this, even before they were actually together. It’s a moment he can get lost in, and lose his pain in. It’s a moment wherein he can see the past, the present, and maybe a future, all at the same time.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts once again by Harry, who’s gently tugging the jumper out of Niall’s grip. “What are you doing?” Niall asks, his fingers digging into the fabric to keep from surrendering it.

“It’s mine.” Harry shrugs. “And I want to wear it.”

“Oh.” Niall breathes out, relinquishing his grip. “It’s dirty though.”

“That’s fine.” Harry says, pulling the jumper over his head with his towels lain casually on the floor, probably already dampening Niall’s carpet. Harry’s such a fucking slob. Con.

“I guess I’ll be going now.” Harry says quietly, gathering the clothes that he’d discarded last night and placing them in his bag.

“What are you going to do?” Niall asks.

“I’ve got a party that I RSVP’d to months ago.” Harry tells him. “I don’t really want to go, but I did buy a new suit.”

He unzips one of the suit-bags that are hanging off of Niall’s bedpost, revealing what is quite possibly the ugliest article of clothing Niall has ever seen, and forcing a laugh out of the blond before he can stop it. “Oh my god!” Niall guffaws. “That’s fucking hideous.”

“It’s Gucci.” Harry pouts.

“It looks like the carpet in a hotel room that you pay for by the hour.” Niall snorts. “And you just know somebody was murdered in that room.”

“Arse.” Harry grumbles, zipping back up the bag.

“Have fun at your party, I guess.” Niall giggles. “Dressed like a pimp from the seventies.”

“Cara is going to be there, so it should be interesting enough.” Harry shrugs. Niall just grunts in acknowledgement, his levity turning sour in an instant. Harry must sense it, because he adds, “Not like that, Niall.”

“Whatever. It’s not like we’re together.” Niall mutters. “Shouldn’t expect you to go chaste until I figure things out.”

“I don’t want anyone except you, Niall.” Harry says gently, wrapping his hand around Niall’s jaw and tilting it up. “Take as long as you need, and I’ll wait for it. There won’t be anyone else.”

“Sure.” Niall scoffs.

“Niall, I don’t know what to say to make you believe me, but I’m telling you the truth.” Harry says, his tone unwavering. “I’m in this.”

“I- I’ll see you tomorrow at the festival.” Niall says after a moment. Harry gives the barest of nods, and then closes the distance between them. His lips push against Niall’s, a sudden surprise, but not an unpleasant one. He’s not sure if this kiss is a promise, or a goodbye, if it’s hopeful, or sad, or sweet, or any number of a thousand other things that it could be. The only thing he knows is that it’s good. Good enough to curl his fingers into the front of Harry’s jumper and hold him there. They pull apart after a moment, just a fraction so minimal that Niall’s lips still brush against Harry’s when he asks, “Why’d you have to go and to that for?”

“In case it was the last time I ever had the chance.” Harry whispers.

“Oh.” Niall says weakly. “You uh- You should go now.”

“Yeah.” Harry says with a nod. And just like that, he’s out of Niall’s space. He picks up his bags, and heads out of the bedroom without another word. The sound of his boots against the floor is heavy, and the click of the front door closing is even heavier, ringing with something that Niall can only identify as finality. This is his chance to take everything that Harry has said, and find some closure.

Only – He doesn’t want closure. Closure means that things are over, and as horrible as things may have gone in the end, the times leading up to that were some of the best that Niall has ever had in his life. He’s not ready for them to be over. Harry may have been a coward when he ran, but Niall is a coward too. He’s a coward for not taking the risk to get what he knows that he really wants. Niall doesn’t want to be a coward.

Without having another shoe on, running is particularly difficult, because of the difference between the height of his right leg and his left one. He manages though, keeping his arm out to catch himself when he stumbles trying to take the corners. Harry had only left a minute ago, but Niall still worries that the younger man will be gone by the time he finally gets to the front door and wrenches it open.

But he’s not. He’s just leaning against the wall, looking at his phone until he screams and drops it into one of Niall’s bushes. “Bloody hell, Niall!” he groans, clutching at his chest. “Are you trying to give me a fucking heart at-”

Niall cuts him off with a harsh kiss, fisting his hands in the jumper and pressing Harry into the wall with all of the force he can muster. He’s fully aware that there are tears pouring down his cheeks, and that they’re doing this in broad daylight, but it doesn’t stop him. He kisses Harry until he can’t breathe anymore, burying his face in the taller lad’s neck, and whispers, “Let’s do it.”

“Ni- Are- Are you sure?” Harry asks cautiously.

“Not in the fucking slightest.” Niall says with a choked laugh. “Because you’re probably going to break my heart all over again. But I want to be with you, even risking that. Because I love you for some stupid reason. And love is scary. It’s always scary. But sometimes it works out, and I want it to work out with you.”

“I won’t let you down again.” Harry murmurs, curling his arms around Niall’s back. “But you really need to know that this is what you want to do, Niall. Because I don’t know if I can take it if you say this now, and then take it all back again tomorrow.”

“I’m done running from the things that I want.” Niall mumbles.

“So am I.” Harry says firmly. It sounds like a promise. Niall just prays that he keeps it this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about that ending. I planned on taking this up through the AMF, but I really just wanted to get his out and focus on the TBiaM epilogue.


End file.
